Sleepless Nights and Secrets Uncovered
by Lunaverserocks
Summary: It had never been a secret, but it had never been explained. Her adoption—her true parents. Who were they, and why was she left in Bail Organa's care? Late one night, ten-year old Leia is determined to find answers. But when she and Artoo uncover a secret nobody wanted her to discover, she finds herself tumbling down a womp rat-sized hole of problems.
1. Sleepless Nights

It had never been a secret. But it had never been explained.

Adopted, they had said. Born of two young and fearless individuals, impassioned in the midst of intergalactic turmoil. Individuals who ignored the ramifications of the worlds around them and instead looked to one another for guidance and focus. Individuals who, though bursting with love, eventually succumbed to the fate of the Clone Wars, when fear ran rampant and the Empire took its first fistful of power.

It was simple—a classic story shared by thousands of orphans across the galaxies. Yet for ten-year old Leia Organa, it felt so complicated.

Too complicated.

Her parents? Dead. Her adoption? Finalized a few days after her birth. Her childhood? Significantly better than most, but filled with questions she didn't feel comfortable asking aloud.

How did they die? When, exactly, were their fates sealed? Why did they leave her in Bail and Breha Organa's care? And, most importantly: who were they?

Leia frowned at the dimly-lit city underneath her bedroom balcony and returned to the comfort of her plush bedsheets, snuggling and squirming until the queries pitter-puttering around her mind quieted. She sighed. It was almost a nightly routine, now; joining with her adoptive parents' tradition of tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.

The questions were a constant reminder of things that could have been, had the Galactic Republic not fallen and allowed the Empire to take hold. A constant reminder of the life she could have had, had the Senate of old been more aware of the deadly trap consuming them. Of the childhood she could have lived, had—

"Starshine?"

The bedroom door opened and Leia closed her eyes, feigning sleep for what felt like the umpteenth time. She could feel the hall light creep across her face, a single ray of pure, artificial light in an otherwise dark room.

"Asleep," she heard, disappointment clear.

"She's getting too old, my love," came her father's voice. "Too old for bedtime kisses and well wishes. Too old for nightly tuck-ins." A pause, contemplative, and the sound of a light peck on her adoptive mother's cheek. "We knew this would happen eventually."

"But so soon? It seems like yesterday she was a babe in my arms…"

The conversation continued, but receding footsteps drowned out the words.

Leia sighed. Again. And opened her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling above her head. At the nothingness that oftentimes lulled her to sleep.

It was calming—peaceful—at a time when her life was unusually chaotic and rigid. Filled with an airtight schedule of etiquette lessons and basic combat training. With intergalactic language tutors and practice political negotiations. With travels throughout the Empire and…

…those questions.

She sat upright and ripped the covers from her legs. Tore them back and stepped out of bed. Made her way to the door and snuck beyond the confines of her room. To the halls, which were finally empty for the night. Barren. No servants, no politicians. No Artoo units or protocol droids. And no mother or father to stop her ambitious curiosity.

So she ambled to the living room and grabbed her favorite hologram projector. Flipped the toggle and found a comfortable spot on the sofa where she could watch her infantile self coo in her adoptive parents' arms.

For a moment, she was happy and distracted. Enamored with the swirling blue haze before her eyes. It was delightful, but so strange. Foreign. And she studied the hologram. First, her mother. Then, her father. And after staring at those faces—familiar faces she had seen day after day grow older and older from the pressures of daily life—she wondered what those faces could've looked like had events turned out differently.

What they would have looked like had two other people survived.

Leia squinted, thinking.

Did she have her mother's eyes? Or hair color? Did she have her father's cheekbones? Or chin? Would they have shared the same interests? Or favorites like foods and colors?

She looked away from the hologram, forlorn.

Having been an infant, there was almost nothing to remember. Only a brief inkling that her mother was beautiful and kind. But strangely sad. And her father?

Her face screwed in concentration.

Nothing. Not a memory of what he could have looked like or a thought about his character. Not the memory of his coarse clothes against her skin or the pads of his thumbs caressing her cheek. Almost like she had never met him, never once been coddled in his arms during her first few days of life. Never once seen the color of his irises or the wrinkles under his eyes. Never once felt his acknowledgement or love.

And she hated that feeling. Hated that she didn't have a picture to commemorate their memories. Or a name to search for on nights like tonight.

Annoyed, she stood and looked left. Then right.

Like so many nights before, she headed for her parents' private galactic database. Down two flights of stairs and into the fourth room on the left. And when there, she plopped onto the most uncomfortable chair on Alderaan and pressed the power button for the main screen. It glittered grey for a moment, then turned black. And when the cursor blinked green, she started typing. Frantically.

Desperately.

Documents. Articles. First-hand accounts detailing every minute detail of every little skirmish on land, sea, sky, or in space. She combed through countless lists of Clone War casualties, forever hopeful that something would stick out. That a few vowels or consonants would look familiar when jumbled in just the right order. That they'd form the name of a place or a battle…

…or a person.

And while distracted with the ever-changing screen, she didn't notice the door opening off to her right. Or the machine whirling up beside her.

_Whrrrrrrp._

Startled, Leia turned. Then frowned at the white astromech droid.

"Artoo," she huffed. "Shush up, okay? You know I'm not supposed to be in here."

_Brrrrr boop beep._

"I know what time it is, silly. I just can't sleep."

_Whrrr._

"Yes, yes." Leia waved at the droid, shooing it away. "_Again_."

_Breep boop._

"Well I don't know_ why_ I can't. I just…can't. Now be quiet or go away. I'm looking for something."

Artoo didn't move, just flashed its red eye and scanned the contents of her screen. Then turned its head slightly counter-clockwise, looking at her. Looking _through_ her, as it often did.

_Beep boop beep._

Leia blinked, then exhaled. "I—I don't know what I'm looking for. Just that I'm looking."

_Breep breep._

"I know that wasn't helpful. But I can't explain it to you. You wouldn't understand."

_Whrrrrrrp._

"Because you're a droid. You don't have parents."

_Boop boop._

"I know I have parents. But they're not my biological ones. I want to know—" Leia frowned. "—I want to know about my _real_ parents. About my birth mother and father."

Artoo remained still for a while, then shook back and forth on his three legs, like it had an idea. _Burp burp._

"Seriously, Artoo?" she snapped, eyes rolling. "If I knew their names, do you think I'd spend my nights pouring over this stupid computer?"

The droid stopped rocking. _Brrrrr._

Leia flushed and bit her lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean that." She fumbled over her words. "I'm just exhausted. And looking at all of these lists—these planets, cities, and people…it's-it's depressing. So many places. So much death…"

She paused and Artoo centered its weight on its central and left leg. Nudged her gently with one of its shoulders.

Her voice came out soft and sad. "Do you think I'll ever find them?"

The droid righted itself but gave no response. No beep or flickering light. No bodily tilt or turn of its head. Just stillness.

"Yeah, I don't think so either."

There was an eerie silence and Leia sank into her uncomfortable chair. She tried to hear something—anything—but could only hear the droid's steady hum. So she let it fill the void in her ears and closed her eyes, wishing the soft sound could lull her to sleep. And just as she was about to drift off, Artoo shifted and rolled back. Bounced off a large piece of machinery along the far wall with more force than it intended and excitedly beeped.

_Brrrrr-ur-brrrrr-ur-brrrrrr._

Leia eyed the droid and squinted. "That's a bad idea, Artoo. A supernova-sized bad idea."

_Brup brup._

"Of course I know what it is. I was there when it was installed." She stood from her chair and walked over to the machine. Kicked the front. "A thermocycler," she said. "Just another way for the Empire to collect data on its less savory inhabitants." She snorted. "A ridiculous violation of our citizen's basic rights—a DNA collector."

Artoo wheeled back and turned its body forward, stance questioning.

"What?" she said. "You think it's right for the Empire to collect a DNA sample from every criminal, politician, ruler, and government worker, whether they want to give it or not?"

_Beep beep._

"I know you don't have DNA. But does that make it any less right?"

_Wrrrrrrr._

"Well no, mine's not in there. Not yet, at least. Not until I'm queen."

_Reeeee-ruuuu._

"You want me to do _what_? Why?"

_Beep beep._

"Well that's just stupid, Artoo. Seriously, horribly—" She blinked and made a face at the collector, thought about how it contained data from individuals throughout the galaxy. Digitized double-helix strands from so many distant places—so many different individuals. And maybe somewhere, somehow, one of those people could be related to her, even if it was a distant connection. "—brilliant."

The droid chirped and rolled away, leaving a wide berth. Leia filled the space in an instant and plugged in a few directional commands. She paused once or twice, confused, but eventually powered through, using her technological savvy to bypass the normal opening sequences. And when it finally came time to press her thumb over the needled keypad, she took a breath and looked at her android companion.

"D'you really think this will work?"

Artoo wiggled and Leia scowled.

"Yeah, I don't know, either." She took another breath, this one deeper. "But here goes nothing."

The minuscule prick only hurt for a moment. And after it was done, she pulled back her thumb and put it in her mouth. Sucked until the metallic taste faded away.

"I dunno Artoo," she said, watching the loading screen percentage climb, "this might've been a bad—"

_Ding!_

Data poured onto the screen. An undecipherable sequence and then a flashing line.

A name.

Leia almost squealed.

After so long, after so many sleepless nights wondering and searching, she might've finally uncovered a little piece of her lineage. A little more of the truth nobody was willing to discuss out loud. A little more information about who she was—about who she could've been.

But when she looked up and read the single flashing line, she couldn't help but stare blankly at it.

_Maternal Match: Padmé Amidala_

"Well that can't be right." She hit the scanner. Once, twice, then thrice. "This machine must be defective or something."

_Bleep blump._

"No, Artoo. You don't understand."

_Blurururur._

"Of course I know who she is, but that's why this stupid machine is wrong. Dead wrong."

Leia stared at the flashing line and read the name over and over. _Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala. Padmé Amidala._ And the more she read it, the more it left a sour taste in her mouth.

Mostly because of the woman's fame; her skill in battle and negotiations. The fact that she was one of Naboo's youngest queens, and later, their senator. An infamous war hero who led countless expeditions, more times than not coming out victorious. And yet still, dead. Slaughtered by the Sith Lord, Darth Vader. Murdered, long before her time; gone, when the galaxy needed her most.

_Padmé Amidala._ Beautiful, cunning, stubborn. Beloved, admired, and adored by all who met her. By all who happened to cross her path.

So different from her supposed daughter, a ten-year old girl still growing into her cheekbones, baby fat dissolving until it accentuated the curves of her face. Who occasionally struggled to remember the complicated names of foreign dignitaries, no matter how many times she practiced. Who was oftentimes described as stubborn to the point it was a negative quality, not positive. Who was only beloved, admired, and adored by her adoptive parents when she caused mischief throughout the palace.

_Boop boop._

Leia snorted, reverie broken. "Well that can't be true," she said, jaw setting in concentration. "We do _not_ look alike. And I'll prove it to you."

So she walked to the computer and began pulling up old holographic images. She zoomed in on the deceased senator's face and stared, transfixed at the growing number of similarities. The brown hair and brown eyes; the light-toned skin and bodily build. The resolve on her face and the way her lips creased just so when Padmé's hologram smiled.

Just like Leia's did when she practiced greeting figureheads in front of the mirror.

"Nope. Nope." Leia shook her head, frowned, and squinted. "See, Artoo," she said, struggling to disagree with the droid but doing it out of pure pigheadedness. "I look nothing like her." She paused and considered more logical reasoning. "And besides, there could be a million people in the Empire who share my traits. A million people who could be related to me. Our stupid machine is broken. And that's that."

Artoo did not beep or move, but its solitary eye glowed dark crimson the more it stared at Padmé's holographic image.

_Brup bruuup._

"Artoo," Leia collapsed Padmé's hologram and shut down the computer, "there's no way she looks _just like you remember_. You've never met her before; you must be thinking of somebody else."

_Wurreeeeeeeep!_

"Hey! Shush up! Do you want us to get caught in here?"

_Beep beep._

Leia smiled and put her hand on the droid's rotating top. "That's more like it," she said. Then she bit her bottom lip and walked out of the database's room, with Artoo rolling slightly off to her right.

And when she finally made it to her bedroom, she pursed her lips. "Mom and dad can't know," she said.

_Wuuuuur._

"I'm serious, Artoo. If they found out what I did tonight, they'd probably get upset. So you can't tell them, got it?"

_Wurp wurp._

Leia frowned at the droid's lackluster response. "You know what? I think you might need a checkup or something. You've been saying a lot of crazy things tonight and that's not normal. You should probably run a scan just to make sure you're feeling okay."

_Wurggle wurrgle wurrgle._ The droid's head spun like it was insulted and then it backed away. _Breep boop boop._

"Well goodnight to you too," Leia huffed as her bedroom door whooshed open and she walked inside.

And when the door was finally closed, she collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes bleary but very much awake. Thoughts of her suspected maternal match—her suspected biological mother—clouded her mind. Distracted her from sleep once more.

She had to know—just had to keep searching.

So she dug out the handheld unit designed specifically for her schooling and read through everything the database had on Padmé Amidala.

Everything she could find...

...on her mom.

**OoOoO**

The morning came quick—too quick. And Leia struggled throughout the day, distracted and tired. Moping through the palace's halls as she attended different classes and lessons specifically designed to prepare her for her upcoming coronation.

Her handpicked tutors noticed her sluggishness with disappointed frowns on their faces, scowls upturned in horrible fashion until they all decided to dismiss her early. And as she roamed the palace's halls, searching for her parent's personal apartment, she heard something strange and approached with curious caution.

She neared, voices growing more defined. And then she rounded another corner and heard everything very clearly. Too clearly.

An argument of sorts.

Her father, voice calm and steady, but obviously upset. And a strange, gasping retort.

Leia stopped, eyes wide.

She knew that gasping sound—had never experienced it personally, but had been told about it. And she continued her approach with heightened trepidation, ears attuned to the distinct, low-pitched voice of the Emperor's favorite crony and apprentice.

Darth Vader.

One fearful step, then another. And as she neared, as she tiptoed to a better location where she could eavesdrop and peek with ease, the Sith Lord stopped talking and breathed. Once, twice, thrice.

And then, "I know you're listening, youngling."


	2. Fear to Flight

There was a finite supply of fear in the galaxy. A predetermined amount usually spread throughout an entire universe. But for one millisecond, every ounce that had ever existed poured into every fiber, muscle, and cell of Leia's body.

And it had only taken one sentence.

Five little words and she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't turn around and sprint to her bedroom; lock the door and hide under her covers. Couldn't plod arrogantly onward and ask for her father's forgiveness or mutter a half-hearted apology to the Sith Lord for interrupting his duties.

Couldn't do anything other than exist.

If she could even call it that.

"I sense your fear, youngling." A breath, strangled and mechanic. Terrifying. "And that's good." Another breath. "Fear will make you strong."

More words. More terror. And Leia's heart skipped a beat. Then another.

Then she heard her father's voice, paternally confident but somewhat shaky. "Leia, if you're there, sweetling, go to your room. I'll be along shortly."

There was desperation in her father's voice. Desperation and anxiety. An otherworldly, protective will that spoke volumes—danger. And Leia wanted to move, wanted to shuffle backward and sprint through the halls. But something unrecognizable pulled her forward. Made her take one step. Then another.

And another and another and another until she found herself at the entrance of the palace's main chamber, between her father and an overlarge man clad head to toe in black, face obscured by a demonic, black-crystalline mask. Chest emblazoned with a medley of buttons, functions unknown.

Standing there, before one of the galaxy's most feared entities, she couldn't help but tremble. Fingers fidgeted, lips twitched, and eyes flicked back and forth, unsure where to look, unsure if she was _allowed _to look. At Sith Lord Vader, at her father, even at the fashionably-decorated walls of her home.

So she decided to look at the floor. Decided to take this particular moment to count each vein in the tiles underfoot. _One, two, three…_

"Leia." Her father's voice broke her concentration. "Sweetling, please go to—"

"One of yours, I presume?" A breath.

"Y-yes, Lord Vader. My daughter, Princess Leia."

Leia looked up, up, up. Up so far until she got to Vader's black-cloaked shoulders. Then up to peek at his face, where she noticed his unrelenting, insect-like and unblinking masked gaze. He did not turn away and refused to look elsewhere. And she flinched, eyes returning to the veins on the floor. _One, two, three…_

Bail was at her side in an instant. He knelt and cupped her shoulder. Tight. Too tight.

Tight enough to make her panic, to make her think something was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. And Leia's gaze flicked to her father.

"Dad," she whispered. Soft, so soft. "Why's he here? What does he want?"

"Not sure, Sweetling. But I'm sure it's something I can handle." Another tight squeeze, this one less painful. More reassuring. And a smile, very comforting. "Why don't you run off and find Artoo? I'm sure both of you can get into plenty of mischief before dinner."

"But dad—"

"Run along, Leia." Bail stood and adopted an authoritative stance, a commanding presence usually reserved for criminals and underlings. "_Now_."

And with that, Leia fled. Down the hall and around the bend. Up two flights of stairs and into her room, where she pressed her back flat against the door, breath pouring from her lips in rushed, uneven bursts. She steadied herself—

And then it happened.

She panted. Hyperventilated while thinking—knowing—what she'd just done.

"I just _left _him there," she said as she pulled her hands to her cheeks and smacked them hard enough to leave red welts. "All alone and by himself. _All alone._ And _by himself._"

And she whirled. Trekked through the halls with a haste that left her bemused and breathless. Tiptoed past guards, droids, and handmaids who were _not where they should've been_ and pressed on, deep into the palace she knew so well—too well. Behind a tapestry reserved for the handmaids and servants from long ago, when such individuals weren't supposed to be seen and had to use other methods to reach their intended destinations.

Leia opened the secret passageway and gagged. The corridor was filled with cobwebs, insects, and rodents. Bursting with a foul stench from years of neglect, a smell that immediately permeated the air and wafted up and beyond. But she covered her nose with one hand and swiped with the other, shoving herself through the menagerie until she reached her goal.

And she pushed.

The wall cracked open, revealing a slit-sized view of the palace's main chamber, where her father and Vader were still talking.

Tersely.

Less than four feet apart with one towering over the other. Less than four feet apart with neither one surrounded by their usual entourage; no troopers or guards. No servants or lackeys. Just her father, fists and jaw clenched, looking up even though he was standing on a small set of stairs. And Vader, robotically still and intimidating, looking down; a beast of unrealistic proportions.

Just the two of them. Alone. Like both wanted their conversation to be strictly confidential. Secret. Completely private.

But Leia couldn't help it. She eavesdropped. Broke her father's trust.

To protect him, she told herself. To make sure he wouldn't succumb to whatever vile plan Darth Vader had for him. To make sure he wouldn't face the Sith Lord by himself. All alone and defenseless. Unaided at a time he should've be surrounded by his best guardsmen. Protected on all sides, even if it ultimately wouldn't help.

So she listened, knuckles whitening as she clasped the edges of the wall's secret door.

"I need those records, Viceroy."

"Like I said before," Bail said, arms crossed, "_you may have them when you come back with the appropriate paperwork_. I'm _not _giving you a copy of our security log without the appropriate clearances."

There was a pause, intensity heightened with Vader's mechanical respires.

And then, "Whoever accessed your thermocycler is vitally important to the Empire."

Bail glared. "We haven't used that wretched device since the first day, when your installation team demanded we enter our staff, politicians, and criminals."

"Yet somebody did," Vader said. "Just last night."

Bail suppressed the surprise on his face. Adopted another fine-lipped scowl. "And why would you care?"

There was another lengthy pause. An edgy staring match that only ended when Vader finally answered. "Because the DNA entered maternally matched a very wanted individual. An individual suspected dead nearly a decade ago." A breath. "The Empire wants this person for questioning. Immediately."

Bail snorted. "And who is this person?"

One respiration, and then another. "A direct relation to Padmé Amidala."

Bail's usually tan face drained of color. "Th-that's imposs—" He cleared his throat. "That's impossible."

"Yesterday, I believed the same thing. Today—"

"She _died_, Vader." Bail's face turned dark crimson. "Scared and alone. And _pregnant._ She died."

From her hidden passageway, Leia gasped and pressed her face closer to the slit. Her ears hurt from straining so hard, but the pain didn't deter her focus. She bit her bottom lip and powered through. Because they were talking about her—about her mother. And she needed to know—needed to understand—why Sith Lord Darth Vader, out of everybody in the galaxy, was asking about _her._ About Senator Amidala.

Leia continued watching—continued listening—and gulped.

Because for the first time, Vader moved. His helmet slanted down and to the right; mask tilted toward her direction like he had heard her stifled gasp. She hissed and Vader's shoulders dipped. But almost immediately after, his posture returned, head high and shoulders straight. He reached inside his cape and stopped, threat very clear.

"I need your recordings, Viceroy."

"Well go get the appropriate paperwork from your _master_," Bail spat. "Until then, consider your request wholeheartedly _denied._"

"You and I both know I can't do that."

"Exactly," Bail said. "Because this isn't the _Empire's_ inquiry. It's _yours._"

Vader withdrew his arm from the innards of his cape, but his fist was unexpectedly empty. He pointed. "I _will _get those records, Viceroy."

"Over my dead body," Bail snarled.

Vader's hand loosened. Then his fingers curled, reaching for nothing and everything all at the same time. "A poor choice of words," he said.

Bail grasped his throat. Choking. Mouth gasping and eyes popping. Face turning blue as his esophagus sucked frantically for any semblance of air. He collapsed onto his knees and reached forward, desperation stretched across his face. "P-please—"

Leia didn't think. Didn't properly sort through the consequences of her actions. She just bolted; popped out of the wall and sprinted. Screamed, "LET HIM GO!" And furled her fists at Vader's armored chest—hitting as high as she could reach. And when her efforts proved fruitless, she clutched his cape and pulled as hard as she could until he looked down, concentration broken. Then she kept hitting, kept pulling. "Let him go! Let him go! _Let him _**_go_**!"

And then she felt an intense pressure on her shoulders. An unidentifiable force pushing her down and away. And she collapsed onto her back, breathless and panting. Eyes welling with tears but smiling, knowing she had been ultimately successful.

"_Leia!_" Bail screeched. And he was at her side, holding her. Hands so tight around her waist, pulling, pulling, pulling until she was in his lap. Shaking from the pressure of whatever held her. Trembling with the memory of being so helpless, unable to move or breathe. Or blink or speak or think.

"An Organa if I ever saw one," Vader said, insect-like eyes glossing over her flushed face. "Reckless and where she shouldn't be." His gaze shifted to Bail. "You should be proud."

"And he _is_," Leia growled, struggling against her adoptive father's grasp. Vader's gaze returned. "And you're a _jerk._" She wriggled—hard—and Bail let go. She stood. And though her head only reached Vader's waist, her brown eyes glared up at him. Angry, so spiteful. Filled with so much contempt. "And you should be _disgusted _with yourself—"

"Leia!" Bail screamed, reaching for her mouth.

She batted her father's hand away. "—Choking my father because he denied you something—"

"Leia!" Bail tried again and Leia stepped forward, closer to the Sith Lord and out of her father's grasp.

Vader took an involuntary step back.

"—And shoving _me, _a _little girl_, just because you didn't get what you wanted. _Deplorable! Disgusting! _A horrible abuse of whatever station you've managed to scrounge up!"

"_Leia!"_

"And another thing—" She pointed at the Sith, face scrunched with rage. "Just who do you think you are? Coming to my home, demanding—Urmph!"

Bail finally succeeded and Leia screamed through his fingers. But her words were unintelligible and she quieted, fuming. She didn't stay still, though; she wiggled fervently, trying to break free, eyes bouncing between Vader and her father as she struggled.

"Incorrigible," Vader said after a silent moment, fists reflexively clenching. "And highly disrespectful. A—" He stopped and took a breath. Then another as his fists loosened. "Your eyes are…" Another breath and he drug out his next word. "…_familiar_."

"Commonly brown," Bail said, letting go. Leia squirmed away from him, face flushed and arms crossed.

Vader stepped forward and knelt. Inhaled and reached out. Slow, so slow. And Leia didn't flinch away; didn't move a single muscle. Not because she was scared, but because she was angry. Filled with a form of malevolence she couldn't explain.

And while she remained still, Vader placed one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Gently. More gently than she dare believed he could. His other hand cupped her chin. Tilted it left. Then right.

"And your face—"

"I'll show you the blasted footage," Bail snapped. "Now get your hands _off my daughter._"

The heated moment intensified until Vader grudgingly let go. He didn't look away, though; no, he continued scanning Leia's entire body before resting his gaze on her face. "Let's go," he said after a fair bit of reflective silence.

And when Bail motioned for Leia to stay behind, Vader grabbed his arm and squeezed. Hard. "_All _of us."

"This is grievously irregular," Bail snarled, struggling to escape Vader's grasp. "My daughter will stay where she is. She doesn't need to be involved with this."

"And yet," Vader said, "she is."

"_My daughter _will remain—"

_"Is_ she yours, Viceroy?" A breath. "Truly yours?"

Bail blanched, then looked down and bit his tongue. "You'll find all the proof you need within our security holos." He took a step and looked back. "And after you've viewed them, I demand that you leave Alderaan. Immediately."

Vader bypassed Bail like he already knew the palace's layout. "The contents of your logs will determine my departure. Now come, you're only delaying the inevitable."

As instructed, Leia followed her father and the Sith Lord, eyes focused on the expanse of Vader's billowing cape. And when they walked through areas of the palace teeming with people, she looked around, expecting horrified expressions and fear-filled gasps.

She expected outright chaos.

But nobody moved.

Or noticed.

Or cried out, or trembled, or gulped.

It was almost like they were invisible. Eerily, horribly undetectable.

Nobody bothered her father for signatures or his vocal approval. Nobody chastised Leia for being out of her classes far too early. And nobody noticed the Sith Lord's floor-shaking footsteps plodding unpleasantly forward.

"Um," Leia said, reaching for her father's hand. "Dad…?"

Bail wound his fingers around hers. He squeezed, soothing. "A dark mind trick," he said, expression grim. "He doesn't want to be seen."

Leia's gaze shifted to her father, but Bail didn't look down. "How come?"

"Because he's not supposed to be here. And he knows it."

"Dad—"

"Shush, Starshine. We'll talk later."

The rest of the jaunt through the palace passed relatively quick. And even though it was a short trek, Leia noticed her father withering with each step. Face growing gaunt as the Sith Lord trudged through the palace without guidance or assistance.

He didn't even need top-level security passcodes when he entered the royal family's private apartment. The doors and elevator shaft just opened at his gesture. Let him inside to wreak whatever havoc he desired.

It was impressive, galling, and terrifying all at once. Even as a minute display of the dark force's power.

And Leia wondered—just wondered—what the Sith would do when she realized it was _her _DNA that had prompted this whole exploit. _Her _DNA he sought. _Her_ being the target of his queries.

She blinked and thought.

Lying had never gotten her anywhere. Somebody always found out. Somebody was always watching or knew. And she realized that it was in her best interest to come clean.

Because maybe then, Vader would be less mad. Maybe then, he'd spare her and her father's life.

And she nodded, resolute.

"Dad—"

"Shush, Sweetling."

"But dad, I need to tell you—"

"_Not now_."

And Bail squeezed her fingers. Hard, so hard. Making her wince and sputter. And then drift into silence.

And while Leia was rendered speechless, miserable for keeping a secret that had caused so much strife, the door to the royal family's private database whooshed open.

They walked inside and a series of beeps told them they weren't alone.

Bail let out a deeply-held breath. "Artoo," he said, forcing the droid to shift its crimson eye away from the dark figure in the room, "could you open the security holos from last night?"

Artoo's body jolted forward, ready to act on Bail's command. But the moment it passed Leia, it paused and stared at her as only it could. And Leia stared back, face a wretched and identifiable mess. And after a moment, Artoo careened to the side of the room where it could access the telecommunications port. It twisted the port left. Then right. _Blurp blurp._

"To the holopad, please," Bail said as he squeezed Leia's hand.

The circular pad in the middle of the room burst to life; it revealed fuzzy blue forms in the midst of private conversations and droids hobbling to and fro. It revealed servants performing their daily duties and the royal family preparing for bed.

Vader immediately took command at the control panel; he turned a dial and the fuzzy images blurred beyond recognition, fast-forwarding. He stopped when he got to the time he was looking for and stared at the single blue person traipsing the halls.

Leia.

The living and breathing Leia could feel Vader's glossy gaze through the projection's blue haze. And she gulped, unnerved until he looked away. Then she continued to stare at the damnable evidence.

Her blue form waltzed to the living room and sat. It gazed lovingly at a well-worn holoprojection and sat there for minutes, silent and contemplative. And just when Leia—the real Leia, the one watching from behind the tears welling in her eyes—knew she would get up and tread lightly to the database…

…she didn't.

Instead, a fuzzy, blue Artoo rolled forward and chittered at her. And she responded in kind. "_Not yet, silly droid_."

Artoo's image bleeped at her.

"_I can't sleep."_

Another beep.

_"Stop keeping track of my sleeping patterns. It's unsettling."_

Vader fast-forwarded the conversation to the point where she and Artoo got up. Watched pointedly as Leia's fuzzy form drifted down the hall—the wrong hall.

"There must be more," Vader said, turning the dial and speeding through the remainder of the recording.

"Afraid not," Bail said after the images morphed into the present.

Vader collapsed the hologram. Pointed a threatening finger. "Somebody accessed your scanner last night, Viceroy."

"Perhaps we were hacked?" Bail shrugged. "I hear the Rebel forces are gleaning significant information from databases across the Empire."

"Gleaning, yes. But _inserting _information?"

Bail cocked his head. "I'm afraid that line of questioning is beyond me," he said. "I have no idea what the Rebels want, nor do I care. Alderaan is a peaceful place; we do not get involved in unnecessary wars. Now," he turned to Artoo, "Artoo, could you make sure Leia gets to her room while I escort Lord Vader off our lovely planet."

_Weereeeeee!_

"Thank you." Bail stepped toward the door. Gestured. "After you, Lord Vader."

And with that, Darth Vader disappeared into the hall.

Bail and Leia followed, but only Bail continued after the Sith Lord. Leia remained behind, staring at their backs, eyes focused on the sinewy black cloak clapping furiously against a pair of boots.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. Couldn't take her eyes off the man who murdered her mother. Who high-tailed it across the galaxy the moment a semblance of said woman's DNA resurfaced.

_Padmé Amidala._

Why was Vader so keen to find a direct relation? And why did he care? What more could he want from a corpse? Or from her?

And to travel so far and return empty-handed. To leave without argument, without another word.

Especially after examining her closely. Tilting her head just so and resting his hand against her shoulder, uncharacteristically gentle.

It made her uneasy. Horribly, irrevocably uneasy.

And curious.

Vader and her father disappeared beyond a corner and Artoo beeped, ripping her from her thoughts.

"Thank you for changing the footage," Leia said, biting her lip. "You really saved me back there."

Artoo chirped. Then rotated its head and started rolling down the hall. _Blururuuuur._

_"_No way, Artoo. We're not going to my room."

Artoo stopped and turned back around. _Blick blurk bleep?_

The droid's question was so simple—_Where are we going?_—but so hard to explain. And after a lot of careful thought, Leia nodded, knowing exactly where she needed to go. Knowing exactly what she needed to do.

Because, she concluded, taking one step forward and then another, if nobody else would tell her about Padmé after nearly a decade of asking—even non-verbally—maybe _he _would.

_Blick blurk bleep?_

Artoo repeated its question and Leia looked at her oldest companion. "_I'm _going to the hanger. _You're _going to my room."

_Wer weeeeeee!_

"I'm serious, Artoo. I've got to do something. And I've got to do it now before I lose my only chance."

_Blerp bleep?_

"I'll tell you later, when I get back." Leia pushed a panel on a nearby wall; it popped out and she held her nose, disgusted with another wretched smell. She entered and turned back around. "For now, I need you to stay behind and keep Dad distracted. Can you do that?"

The droid wiggled back and forth. Then chirped.

"Excellent," Leia said. "I'll see you in a bit." And she closed the secret door.

**OoOoO**

It was a bad idea. A horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad idea.

But she was going to do it anyway.

Leia bit her bottom lip and scanned the hanger, eyes peeking atop a multicolored variety of supply barrels.

She mouthed a curse.

The coast wasn't as clear as she would've liked; two of her father's armored guards stood watch by the shuttle's lift, two more on either side of the hanger's main door. Blasters at the ready and alert, prepared for whatever command Bail decided to unleash, even if it meant their deaths.

And even though it was her own people guarding the Sith's ship, she knew she'd never get past. Not without a decent distraction.

So she cursed again and slumped against the barrels. Mumbled incoherently until she heard it.

The telltale beeps of a droid.

_Familiar_ beeps.

Leia peeked above the barrels again and smiled at the astromech droid pitter-puttering across the hanger floor, toward the nearest pair of guards. Another droid was tailing it, stumbling unnaturally forward, one golden arm raised like it was in the midst of an argument.

"Artoo," Threepio said, gaining ground as its cohort rolled to a stop, "this is against protocol."

_Bleep blurp wurggle._

Threepio gasped. "Oh! Such foul language. You really should get your chips checked." The protocol droid paused and looked around with its white-shaded eyes. "Now, why have you brought us to the hangar?"

"We'd like to know that, too," a guard said as he approached, holstering his blaster. "Under strict orders, nobody's supposed to be here right now." He folded his arms across his chest. "Droids included."

Artoo started frantically beeping, weaving a curious story as another guard approached. Threepio stared, bewildered, and then started relaying the information.

"My friend says that Princess Leia is causing trouble again. And that this time—oh my!" Threepio leaned forward. "Are you sure?" Artoo beeped and Threepio's gaze returned to the pair of guards. "And that this time, she's in _mortal danger_!"

The guards turned, regarded each other, then looked at Artoo. "You serious?" one asked.

_Bleep blurp bleeeeeeep! Whurgle whurgle whurgle._

"Okay, okay. _Sheesh. _There's no reason to get your wires in such a twist. We'll check it out the moment Vader's gone."

_Weeeee wruuuuuu!_

"Okay, _okay_. We're going, we're going." And the leader of the four-man team hailed the remaining two guards over. They disappeared into the hall as a squared unit, footsteps clanging against the metal floors.

Threepio trailed after them, shouting, "This way, this way!" even though he was significantly behind.

Leia stood from her hiding place and Artoo chirped.

"Artoo," she whispered, watching it warily, "what're you up to?"

_Blerurur._

"Helping me?" She frowned. "Well I don't need your help, you silly droid. I'm perfectly capable of doing this by myself."

_Werweeeeeee!_

Leia scoffed. "I would'a got past them! You didn't even give me a _chance_!" She folded her arms and stepped onto the incline of Vader's shuttle.

_Bleep bleep._

"No way, Artoo. You're _not _coming along. You're staying here, remember? Somebody's got to keep Dad distracted."

_Blur weee._

"Threepio can't—"

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made Leia tremble.

Vader was coming. Quickly, too.

And she bolted up the ramp with Artoo at her heels.

She couldn't argue with the droid anymore. So she merely shoved it into a utility closet and crawled in beside it, silently cursing its near-constant chitter.

"Shush up, Artoo. You're going to get us caught."

_Bleep blurp blerururur._

"This is _not _a terrible idea." She hit the droid. Hard. Hard enough for the sound to resonate and hurt her hand. And she hissed. "He knew her, Artoo," she explained. "Knew all about her. So maybe if I tag along and get him alone, he'll tell me what he knows. Ya know, _without _mom or dad getting in the way this time."

_Whurrrg ururrrrg ururrrrg._

"Ugh. Stop _saying _that," she snarled. "This is foolproof—not terrible." She rolled her eyes. "And we're not gonna die."

_Weer weeeee!_

"Well you didn't _have _to come along! I would've been fine by myself."

_Bleep bleep blepp._

_"_Keep it up and I'll scrap you the moment we get back. Mark my words, Artoo. Mark my words." Leia shoved the droid, pushed it into the closet wall. "Now _move. _You're crushing my ankle."

_Bleep blurp bleep._

"Apology_ not_ accepted." Leia paused at the sound of footsteps. Footfalls heavy enough to reverberate through the steel floor. "Someone's coming," she whispered. "Now shush up; for real this time."

The footsteps got loud and then stopped. And for a moment, Leia expected the door to whoosh open. She anticipated being drug from the closet, kicking and screaming as Vader's menacing, vice-like grip clutched her collar and shoved her out.

But when the footsteps suddenly receded, she let out a breath.

She felt the shuttle stir and then lift. And then, just like that, she was leaving Alderaan.

In Sith Lord Darth Vader's ship.


	3. Steps and Phases Make the Best Plans

Leia scrambled for the handprint-sized viewport on the closet's far wall. She stared—transfixed—as Alderaan's mountainous terrain morphed and shrunk before it flattened and faded into the cloudy horizon. Then the planet as a whole grew small and round, shrinking to the size of a marble before disappearing in a fit of blurs, suddenly indistinguishable from the other worlds, stars, and asteroids as they whirred past.

The closet grew cold and somewhat damp and Leia pressed herself against Artoo's warm, humming canister. She breathed deep, finding comfort in the droid's familiar heat and steady purr, and waited.

It felt like hours. It felt like days. But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

But with each passing minute—with each system strobing across the small, crouch-level viewport—Leia only had one thing on her mind.

Her parents.

Her birth mother. Her birth father. And, most importantly…

Bail and Breha Organa.

The beings who'd raised her. Who had given her a home and entrusted her with a crown. Who had loved and cherished her, without question. Who would be undoubtedly worried—maybe even _horrified_—upon discovering her inconveniently-timed absence.

And she suddenly felt guilty.

Horribly, irreversibly guilty.

She should've left them a note. A hologram message. An utterance to a nondescript droid. _Anything _to let them know that she'd be back soon—after she got her answers, of course. After she found out more about Padmé Amidala, the woman she inarguably resembled. The woman who was—without a doubt—her biological mother.

But she hadn't had time.

And for a second, she wondered if telling them would've even mattered.

She couldn't explain it, but she had a sinking, jittering feeling in the pit of her stomach; it was telling her that she wouldn't see her adoptive parents—or Alderaan, for that matter—for a while. A long, long while. And she struggled with that thought. Struggled with the strangeness of not seeing her mom or dad's happy, loving faces across the dinner table; struggled with the uncomfortableness of not hearing their playful banter as they discussed the finer details of their day. Struggled with the absence—the knowledge that she wouldn't feel their warm fingers or lips as they hugged and kissed her goodnight.

And she cringed, unsure if what she was doing was _right. _Unsure if leaving Alderaan was good or bad or somewhere in between.

But if it got her the answers she desperately desired, it'd all be worth it.

Right?

Leia frowned and pressed her forehead against the viewport's reinforced glass. The cold steadily crept inside, offering no parlay until it nearly suffocated her. And just when it got unbearable, she recoiled and pressed her shoulders against Artoo's warm frame again, where she nuzzled as close as she could. She smelled—_felt_—the familiarity of her best friend, immensely grateful for its companionship.

Artoo smelled like motor oil and burnt rubber. And though the musk would've repulsed others, Leia thought it comforting. Familiar. A curious reminder of her childhood, when she used to clutch onto the droid's spinning top until it nearly overheated, terrorizing the palace's many halls as they hurled forward at full-speed, knocking into priceless artifacts and bothering anybody with a seemingly important task, and the numerous times she was elbow-deep in its canister, cleaning or repairing one of its many internal parts and doodads.

Altogether, Artoo smelled like home. Like the best parts of Alderaan.

And as she reminisced, she thought about the droid's many concerns. Thought about how it considered her mission a terrible idea that would result in their—or more likely, _her_—death.

And for a very brief moment, she wondered if Artoo was right.

Vader had traversed the entire galaxy to locate a single DNA relation to a long-dead woman. And when he'd seen her—when he'd knelt in front of her a twisted her face left, then right, holding her chin so, _so _gently—what did he see? What did he want? Why was he so desperate to find a maternal match to a decade-old corpse?

And—most importantly—what would he do when he realized that she had stowed away on his Imperial ship? What would he do when she suddenly popped out of her closet and started barraging him with a menagerie of queries about her biological mother?

Would he get violent? Would he tear her to pieces? Would he kill her the same way he had…

…her mom?

Leia blinked and imagined her death. Imagined a thousand different ways her life could end, right there, right then. Limbs torn from their sockets, an invisible entity clenching her throat, a bolt through the stomach—through her heart…through her _head._

Popping out of the closet. Assaulting Vader with questions. It was probably…best…not to do that.

Yeah…definitely not.

Leia blinked again and squinted at the blurs illuminating the small closet that she wasn't going to pop out of anytime soon. She wondered if Artoo's concerns were more than just preprogrammed responses to danger.

What if Artoo was right?

What if she was headed to her doom? What if—what if—

_I'll be fine, _she told herself. She'd always been fine—would always _be _fine. Felt it—_knew _it—deep in her gut, where her instincts lived. Where they festered and burrowed and occasionally whispered sweet-sounding words of encouragement (_do this, not that; listen; wait; watch). _And they'd never been wrong before. Had never once failed.

So she believed them. Wholeheartedly and without question.

And she took a breath, encouraging and refreshing.

Then she felt it, and the encouraging breath morphed into a stifled gasp.

The shuttle rattled and exited hyperspace with a jolt. It went through a series of melodious beeps and whirs. Then quieted. It slowed and dropped, and then shifted slightly when it settled within the hangar. There were more beeps—the sounds the powering down sequence—and then—

—nothing.

No footsteps. No mechanical respires. No radioed orders or grating sounds that usually meant the ramp was descending.

Nothing.

And Leia held her breath. Waited.

Thirty seconds. Thirty-five. Forty.

Then—

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

Leia scrambled onto her feet at the sound of those loud and fast footsteps. They barreled closer and closer as she righted herself, each clomp vibrating the floor in an unsettling rhythm until they cryptically disappeared altogether.

Right outside the closet's door.

Leia swallowed nervous bile and leaned against the steel frame. She pressed all her weight into it to steady herself, then tried to reach up and activate the access panel. But when her fingers brushed a single key, they curled into her hand, trembling. Then the whole appendage flopped lifelessly against her side.

She took a single step back and stared at the door, wide-eyed and unable to understand why she couldn't do it. Why she couldn't confront the Sith Lord who had probably known she was hiding in his ship's closet all along.

Was she scared? Anxious? Or did she not have the strength or confidence—the wherewithal or self-assurance—that years of royal training had ingrained into her psyche.

She stared, unable to move.

Unable to breathe.

The door remained closed and the silence was debilitating. And just when she thought it would finally whoosh open, just when she thought her heart would explode inside her chest with anticipation, the ship rattled—the ramp was finally descending—and the footsteps continued. _Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Until they were gone, altogether.

Leia waited again. Thirty seconds. Thirty-five. Forty.

And when nothing made a sound she exhaled and smashed her forehead against the steel door. Banged it with each frustrated utterance, "Stupid, stupid, _stupid." _Then collapsed into Artoo with a frustrated snarl when her head ached just as bad as her breathless chest.

_Vrrrp wrrrrp._

Artoo shuffled forward and pushed her onto her feet.

"Thanks, buddy."

_Bleep blurp. _Artoo's red eye glittered in the darkened closet and focused on her. Looked at her as it often did. _Blurp blurp, whurrgle._

Leia snorted. "Well _of course _I have a plan. What do you think I've been doing for the past few hours?"

_Blurp blurp?_

"Well…" Leia's face flushed crimson. "Well, there're steps, you see. And phases."

Artoo said nothing to that and Leia gave the droid a look.

"Those are crucial, you know. Steps and phases make the best plans."

Again, nothing. And again, another look.

Leia bit her bottom lip. Thought. "So step one was the most important—get onto the ship. And we _excelled _at that." A wry smile, then a frown. Suddenly serious. "Then there's step two…get out of the closet. And step three…figure out where we are. And finally, step four: navigate our way to Lord Vader."

_Blurp blurp?_

"Well, from there…" Leia trailed off and shrugged.

_Breep blum. Whurrrr._

Leia's jaw dropped. "_Language,_" she said as she poked her best friend. "I'm an impressionable young mind. You can't just spew those words out like they're nothing."

_Wurggle whurg—_

"I _know _it's not a good plan. But that doesn't mean we're not doing this." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Sometimes the best plans are the ones made on the fly. So—" She elbowed the droid and lurched forward. Pressed her palm against the backlit panel and waited. Frowned when nothing happened and pressed it again, more aggressive. _"—we're doing this,_" she finished through gritted teeth.

Artoo _wurggled _and Leia whirled. Scoffed, "Well, you don't _have _to help if you don't want."

_Bleep bleep._

"Well _good."_ She turned around and pressed her palm against the panel. Again. "Now that _that's _covered…" It did nothing and she hit it with a clenched fist. And when the door still didn't budge, she frowned some more and cursed at the steel, demanding it to whoosh open. Immediately.

And when it didn't, she turned.

_Weer weeee!_

Leia grimaced and sighed. Then put on her best princess face—the one people always ogled and said _aren't you sweet _at. "So step two," she said with a nervous smile tugging the corners of her lips, "is _slightly _more complicated than originally anticipated."

_Bleep bleep._

Droidspeak never sounded so sarcastic and Leia's smile faltered. "Yeah, so…" She poked the door and sighed. Again. "I'm going to need your help. Just this once, I promise," she bargained. "Then afterword, you're free to remain inside the closet for the rest of our mission."

Artoo was silent for a long while, but then squeaked and chittered. _Blurk blick?_

"Well, if we can get this panel off, you can probably get in there and do what you do best."

_Blurggle blurg?_

_"And what's that?" _Leia gasped. "It's like you swapped personality chips with Threepio behind my back or something. Seriously, Artoo…open the door."

_Blick blurk wurggle blurg._

_"But it's safer in here?" _Leia put her fists on her hips and leaned forward. Looked at the droid in its crimson eye and deepened her stare when it looked back. "We're not _safer _in here. We could _die _in here." She paused, considered. Leaned back and frowned. "Well, _I _could die in here. You'll just go into low power mode until somebody needs a broom."

_Blurggle blurg._

"Well it wasn't _supposed _to be funny. It's the truth."

Artoo remained still and Leia hit the door. Again. Then she leaned against it and exhaled, loud and slow.

"If you didn't want to help, then why'd you come along?"

_Boop boop._

Leia deadpanned. "You miss traveling? Well, you silly droid, look around and fall in love, because this scenery is downright _glamorous." _She pointed and Artoo's top spun, following her finger. "Here's a wall." Another point. "And here's a wall. And here's a wall. And here's a _door." _She snorted. "Too bad it won't open, though, because I bet there'd be _more _places to travel to _slightly _beyond it."

Artoo's crimson eye morphed blue as it inspected its surroundings. It looked at every little detail—every bolt and screw—and puttered forward. It extended one spider-like, mechanical arm from its canister, then another. Tore off the panel with its sliver-sized stick fingers and set to work.

It welded, severed, and twisted wires together. And when it was finally satisfied, it backed away.

Leia scrambled around the droid and stared, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for something to happen—anything to happen. And when nothing did, she frowned.

"Artoo?" Her voice was sweet. Angelic. Then a growl, "_Why didn't it work?"_

_Wurweeeee!_

_"It should've worked?! _Well, yeah! I guessed as much. Now figure out why it _didn't."_

Artoo _blick blick_-ed and rolled toward the panel once more. It inspected its progress and welded a few more wires. Chirped excitedly about how complicated its task was while it worked.

Leia, meanwhile, leaned back against the door, tap, tap, tapping her fingers against the cold, drab surface. She huffed after a few uneventful minutes, bored out of her mind and ready to get out.

Then something shuffled on the other side of the door.

"Artoo," Leia whispered, holding her index finger to lips.

Artoo stopped welding and twisting wires. Waited.

And in the silence, Leia _swore _she heard someone cursing. But it was so faint and so far away that she couldn't make out anything other than _oh no_ and _oh my _and _that'll never do_. And it sounded so _familiar _but she couldn't figure out _why, _especially when it was so muffled.

Then the voice very clearly said _ah-ha!_ and—

—the door opened and—

—Leia fell backwards in a heap, butt, back, and head smashing against the floor of the shuttle's main compartment. She scrambled onto her feet as fast as she could, brushing off her backside with a few dignified swipes, swearing as Artoo rolled out of the closet.

She snarled at the astromech, "A warning would've been nice."

But Artoo wasn't paying attention. Instead it said, _Wer-wooo! _and skittered past her, headed for the golden-platted droid a few footsteps away.

"Threepio!" Leia ran forward. "What're you doing here?"

Threepio's mechanical joints whirred as it spun its arms. "I haven't the slightest idea _what _I'm doing here or _how _I got here. But I heard your voice, young princess, and decided to help."

Leia smiled. "Well good thing you did, because Artoo couldn't get us out."

Immediately, Artoo went on a tirade, admonishing Leia's choice of words and phrasing. _Verp verp…Blurggle blurg…Whurggle wrug._

And Threepio responded when appropriate, saying, "Well of course you couldn't get out, Artoo. It was hard-wired to be accessed via the exterior, only. And oh, Artoo! How complicated it was to break that code! If I hadn't picked up a few code-breaking tricks from the Maker, you'd _still _be in there…"

The droids were conversing, but Leia wasn't paying attention. Instead, she crawled over the side of the ramp and peered out as quick as she could. Then she tried again and stood. Righted herself.

"Nobody's out there," she said, face scrunching, confused. "And I can't tell if we're on a ship or a planet. But I'm guessing ship because I didn't see anything organic."

"Oh!" Threepio said, taking a few steps. "I could've told you that, Princess. I've been wandering around this hanger for quite some time now."

Leia said nothing to that and instead looked at Artoo, expression a challenge. "So, are you ready?"

Artoo didn't reply, which was curious, and instead rolled down the ramp.

Leia followed and peered around as they descended, making sure they were truly alone. And when she realized that Threepio had been right and there weren't any guards, troopers, engineers, or droids, she relaxed. Nobody was around—nobody was there—and they walked through the hangar like they owned the place, with Artoo heading directly to the unguarded control port by the main exit.

They paused so the astromech could access the ship's mainframe. And while it was silently working, Threepio rocked.

"Don't be so nervous, Threepio," Leia said. "Maybe the closet'll be our only obstacle."

Her voice held hope, but Threepio hesitated. "Oh, I very much doubt that."

"Well, if Artoo can't figure out how to get me to Vader—"

"_Goodness!_" Threepio careened backward. "Vader!? As in _Darth _Vader? Nobody told me _anything_ about Lord Vader!"

"—then I'll steal some armor and search for him myself."

Threepio didn't ask for clarification. Instead, the droid said, "Aren't you a little short for a Stormtrooper?"

Leia huffed.

Artoo wiggled with droidian laughter and retracted its probe.

_Blur blurp._

"Sweet." Artoo puttered forward, knowing the way, and Leia smirked. "Let's get going then."

"Oh." Threepio shuffled its polished feet. "This is a bad idea. A very bad idea…"

**OoOoO**

They'd been walking for a while and they hadn't seen a single sentient being or droid. But that didn't mean they weren't cautious. Leia poked her head around every corner, checked every monitor, stopped for every minor noise, just to be sure they wouldn't get caught.

She thrust her head around one more corner and immediately whirled. She took a breath and pressed her back into the grey wall. Scuffled her feet, hissed, and took a moment.

"Is something wrong, Princess?"

Leia nodded and Threepio twitched. She took another quick glance and pouted.

There were…a lot of troopers in the next hall. _A lot, _a lot.

Some with blasters at the ready or in holsters; others carrying datapads, tools, and various pieces of equipment. And though they all looked busy, they'd all instantly notice a ten-year old girl, protocol droid, and astromech traipsing past. And they'd look. Stare. No matter how mind-numbingly boring their tasks appeared.

Leia grimaced.

She was caught—they were caught. And they hadn't even made it halfway to their target.

So she took a breath. Cleared her mind and thought. Nodded after a solid minute.

"Okay," she said, straightening her posture. Threepio did the same. "There are a lot of troopers around this corner. Like _a lot_, a lot." She paused and bit her lip. "I have a plan, but it'll only work if we all look the part."

_Blurp blurp?_

She looked at Artoo. Then back to Threepio because the golden-tinted protocol droid tended to be their biggest problem. It was a horrible liar and always tried to talk itself out of her and Artoo's antics. Tried. And usually failed. Or got so flustered that it caused _them _to fail.

So she stared at its hazy optical sensors. Stared _hard._

"Well, Dad says that if you look important and busy, nobody'll bother you." She looked skyward and took another calming breath. Pressed her fingers into her dress, forcing it to flatten under slight pressure. She took one confident step. Then another—into the hall. Tilted her chin up and slightly to the left and kept her gaze focused straight ahead, beyond the cluster blocking her path. If one of her tutors saw her, they would've been proud. "So follow my lead and we'll be out of here in no time."

Leia walked. Artoo rolled. And Threepio…shuffled.

Leia did her best to act like a proper princess. Like she belonged. But though she tried her best, people noticed their entrance. They watched their gait and direction. Looked at Leia's clothes and poise. Stared at the out-of-date droids lagging slightly behind. A few troopers turned their heads and whispered to whoever was nearby. An ensign or two pointed.

But Leia didn't care. As long as nobody stopped them, her plan was a success.

They got about halfway down the hall before an officer noticed them and moved into Leia's path.

The human man looked unpleasant. His light-skinned face was youthful, but carved with disappointment, like somebody had destroyed all of his wonder and whimsy and gifted him grief and stress and more responsibilities than he could manage. He had brown eyes and brown hair speckled with the same shade of grey as his uniform, which was clean and pressed with nary a splotch to mar its perfect presentation. His chest was emblazoned with a myriad of red and blue buttons that denoted his rank. And he quickened her pace when Leia hastened hers.

He was right in her path and Leia tried to maneuver around him, but then he was in her path—_again_—with an even nastier expression on his face. And when he was less than ten steps away, he looked down on her and sneered. Four steps away and he reached down to grab her arm.

But Leia glared at him with all the intensity that she could muster and his thinning eyebrows twitched. He pulled his hand back and before he could get a word out, Leia barked, "_Move_." And he _did_.

He was left blinking as she passed. And when he finally recovered, he said, "You—miss!"

Threepio tuned with a swish and said, "_Princess—"_

"Not _now, _Threepio," Leia hissed between her teeth.

Threepio turned and quieted and Leia kept walking. She could hear the man grumble about something; then he opened his mouth and said, "_Princess—"_

"If you are in need of information," Leia huffed without turning around, "I suggest you run to catch up. I have a schedule to keep and I will not have you tying me up without decent cause."

The officer didn't move for a few moments. Leia imagined his mouth open, jaw loose and unsure before it snapped closed. She heard his boots pitter patter across the metal floor, and when he was finally at her side, he looked down on her. Continued to sneer at her with one eyebrow creasing into his ever-enlarging forehead, his face an easily readable map of confusion, curiosity, and rage. Clearly, he wasn't used to back-talk. Especially from a child.

"Princess—"

"I'm in a bit of a rush and already a little late, so please keep your queries brief," Leia said.

She frowned at the man and quickened her pace. She didn't have a plan. Didn't know what to do other than keep up her charade. If she continued to stalk the halls with purpose, maybe he'd leave her alone.

Eventually. _Maybe._

The man looked her up and down and Leia struggled to keep her twitches at bay. His frown grew and grew until it practically cracked his face in two. And then he jogged a step or two, turned, and cut her off completely.

Leia glared as Artoo and Threepio skidded to a halt. Her plan had been a longshot, but it'd been worth a try.

"Princess—"

"Leia Organa," she supplied, crossing her arms. "Of Alderaan."

"Ah, Princess Leia—"

"You'd better have a reasonable explanation for this interruption. I have a very important meeting to get to. And as I already said, I'm already late."

The other people in the hall were watching the spectacle with growing interest—some more obvious than others—and the officer gave a brief bow and righted himself. Leia couldn't help but formulate a plan while the curious ensigns' smiles lengthened. She could…use this officer. Use him to navigate the ship without interruption. Get him to accompany her through the halls so she didn't look so horribly out of place. And when she finally got to her target, safe and sound, she'd ditch him with a heartwarming _thank you_ and get her answers and bolt before anybody knew what had happened…

And she smiled.

And he kept _frowning. _"Princess—"

"I suppose you'd know the layout of this ship."

The man looked downright _baffled _at Leia's statement and she pointed to his chest; he looked down and stared at the red and blue buttons like it was the first time he'd noticed them there. Nodded.

"Well, yes—"

"Excellent," Leia said with another tutor-approved grin. "You'd probably have a decent shortcut or two. These warships always throw me off and I can never remember which way to turn. And my droids are only so helpful—especially when these crafts are always being modified and retrofitted with the most recent tech…" She trailed off. Smiled harder.

And when he said nothing, Leia kept going. "It would be extraordinarily helpful if I had a guide to help me reach my destination. I'd really appreciate it, what with my age and task and the fact that I'm already desperately behind schedule because people keep stopping me…"

"O-of course," the officer said. He blinked. "It would be my pleasure. Where is your destination?"

"Sublevel 4, room 23-13."

The officer's face paled—he recognized the room number, apparently. But without argument, he turned about-face and lead the way.

They walked in silence for a minute or two. Made it to the lifts and started going up. Walked out and headed down a hall, then two. And when the man couldn't hold it in any longer, he blurted, "You're meeting is with Lord Vader."

Leia nodded. Smiled. "Yes."

"Can I ask…what about?"

Leia shook her head and said the quickest lie she could think of. "It's top secret, actually. So, no."

His eyebrows skyrocketed. "And you're from Alderaan." More statement than question, so Leia didn't acknowledge it. "Isn't Alderaan peaceful?"

She paused and nodded and said the most logical thing that popped into her head. "Very much so. And I'd like to keep it that way. That's why my mother and father sent me on this mission."

"So you're here as a diplomatic envoy?"

_This man is just filled with questions…_

"Precisely."

The officer quieted but didn't look comforted, and Leia didn't want to press him but something told her that she should. So she did. "Is this…irregular?"

"Very much so," he said in a single exasperated exhale. "And I apologize for my ignorance, but Lord Vader often keeps his exploits to himself. Had I known that a diplomat of your caliber was headed our way, I would've made the appropriate accommodations with my superiors."

Leia shrugged. "Things happen…" She twirled a finger, silently asking for the man's name.

"Piett," he said, stopping, "Firmus Piett." He extended his hand and Leia took it and shook.

He grinned with professional politeness and Leia smiled.

"Well, Mister Piett—" The edges of Piett's lips twitched up higher. "I'm actually delighted that things happened this way. You've been very helpful and I doubt others in your position would've been as cordial. It took me _forever _to get to where I was and—" Leia caught the number above the door. "—look at that, we're already here."

Piett looked up like he hadn't noticed and nodded. Then _paled. _"Would you like me to accompany you inside?"

Leia shook her head. "I should be okay. But thank you for offering."

Piett's face regained some color and he nodded one final time. Then bounced away as quick as he could, never looking back at the ten-year old, protocol droid, and astromech he left behind.

"Well," Leia said quietly to Artoo and Threepio, eyes attuned to the steel in front of her, "here goes nothing…"

Leia stepped forward and the door whooshed open. She poked her head inside and frowned.

The room—Vader's main chamber—was empty. No human or droid. Barely a decoration or adornment of any kind splattered the walls. Only a desk overladen with datapads, a work table piled with a metal fragment or two, an uncomfortable-looking couch that looked like it had never been used, and an expansive window with a glorious view of the stars stuck out from the drab, grey walls.

Leia frowned harder. Then waved her hand to let her companions know it was safe. They walked inside together, every step careful. Every step thought completely through; they barely made a noise—besides a faint beep from Artoo which told them that there was a large heat signature in the next room—and proceeded with caution.

Suddenly, things got _loud. _Somebody was shouting—somebody was mad. And whoever was screaming was right behind the next door, spewing out words in a rushed, uncoordinated rhythm.

Leia stepped closer and closer to the creased steel, tiptoeing as quiet as she could.

Until she recognized the voice and hastened her pace. She knelt by the door's crease and pressed her ear to it. Frowned and wished she could open the steel without somebody noticing. Because she _knew _that voice; had heard it on a fair number of occasions when her antics were too dangerous or bold. When she—_fairly, _she'd admit—deserved admonition for her actions or decisions.

Artoo wiggled around her and accessed the control port. And then, just like that, the door slithered open.

Slightly.

She could _see. _And there, in the middle of the room as a flickering blue form, was her father, Bail Organa. And he was _screaming._

"Where _is _she, Vader?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Vader was standing in front of the communications port. His tone was startlingly calm and collected, albeit slightly perturbed—even through his respirator.

"Don't lie to me," Bail snapped. "Don't you _dare _lie to me. Not about this. Not about Leia."

There was…a pause. And Leia used the opportunity to step closer. Press her cheek against the door and scoot against it so she could poke an eye through the slit. And when she saw Darth Vader with his thumbs hooked into his belt, arguing with the projection of her adoptive father, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the situation.

Mostly because Bail Organa's hologram was hunched over the display, face a wretched mess of wrinkles and worry. Clothes disheveled and caked with a bit of mud and broken twigs. He looked like a picture-perfect map of fear and exhaustion, like a father who'd spent the last few hours searching relentlessly for his missing child, only to come up empty-handed.

Frankly, he looked desperate.

"I wouldn't call you if I wasn't sure—if I wasn't _absolutely _positive that she wasn't on Alderaan," Bail said, face morphing into an unusual, uncharacteristic snarl. "So that leaves _you."_

Vader didn't shift or fidget under Bail's accusation, just stood there like the mechanical monolith he most definitely was. "Your _Leia _isn't with me."

"Well she for damn sure isn't here!"

Vader unhooked his thumbs. Pointed and then curled his fingers, threat very clear. "It's in your best interest to watch your tongue, Viceroy."

Bail faltered, face contorting unpleasantly as he processed Vader's warning. Then, he spoke. "I…apologize for my misstep. But please understand a father's worry. My daughter is _missing,"_ he said, tone more calm but still anxious. "And I've checked the entire palace—every room, every secret passageway, every garden—and all of the surrounding buildings." He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck. "She doesn't usually disappear like this—doesn't usually leave the palace without letting somebody know where she's going or what she's doing. And nobody's seen her for a few hours."

Bail straightened. "So I'm left with you. And your ship."

Vader's hand fell. "And you believe that she could stow away on my ship without me knowing?"

Bail shrugged. "My daughter is incredibly resourceful."

"And a little girl."

Bail's posture shifted again. He suddenly morphed into the strict politician he usually was. "Never underestimate a little girl, Lord Vader. Especially _that _one."

Vader said nothing for a moment or two. Then, finally, "I'll issue a warrant for her seizure. If she's here, she'll be found—"

"_Unharmed," _Bail interrupted.

"—and put directly into my custody until I deem it appropriate to return to Alderaan."

Bail faltered. "Th-that's not necessary, Lord Vader. I can send a pair of droids for her. I have a protocol droid and an astromech who are well-equipped to handle such tasks, and they're familiar with my daughter and have done so before, and—"

"Unacceptable," Vader said.

"Then I'll come—"

"Unacceptable."

Bail paused, eyes narrowing. "You're not seriously going to imprison her for this, are you? She's a little girl. She doesn't know—"

"If she's as resourceful as you claim, then she's knowledgeable enough to understand the ramifications of her actions. And if your assumptions are correct, she deliberately boarded an Imperial craft for reasons unknown. That, in and of itself, is a crude violation. And if she's caught collecting intelligence or administering sabotage for—"

"_She's a little girl!"_

"—the Rebellion, then she'll be treated appropriately."

Bail's mouth fell open, but no words escaped his lips. Then a flurry of them poured out, each one growing more and more violent, more and more frustrated. "You think she's working with the _Rebellion? _Like some sort of _twisted_ _child-soldier_? _She's ten!"_

Vader lurched forward and loomed dangerously over the projection. And even though Bail wasn't physically there, he backed up a bit. Vader continued, "Though you might claim it's peaceful, Alderaan isn't wholeheartedly clean in this war, Viceroy."

A pause. Then Bail's blue face grew visibly enraged. "I don't have a clue—"

"Your name, in particular, has sprung up on a few occasions—"

"—what you're talking about." Bail blinked. "And even if I were to entertain such an accusation, if you think I'd subject my _daughter—"_

"So I'll keep your child close—"

"—to that nonsense, then you are _horribly mistaken—"_

"—and consider her insurance, wherein her life is payment for your future misdeeds." Vader crossed his arms.

"You _can't—"_

"I most certainly can. And will."

"You'll hold _my daughter—the Princess of Alderaan_—hostage because of a few unscrupulous Rebel murmurings?"

Vader's helmet tilted. "Again, I ask," he said, tone clipped, "_is she yours? Truly?"_

Bail staggered backward. Narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "Leia is adopted, but that doesn't make her any less an Organa. She's my daughter and I love her without question." He took a step forward, regaining himself. "And though Alderaan has remained peaceful in the past, we can take up arms at a moment's notice."

"Is that a threat?"

Bail squared his shoulders, glared, and reached forward. And with a crackle, he disappeared.

Leia simply stared at the empty space in front of Vader's still form. She couldn't breathe, couldn't believe what she'd heard or seen. Her father was…desperate. And angry. And frightened. And upset. And willing to go to war—to put Alderaan and its millions of inhabitants—in serious jeopardy, all because…

…of her.

She gulped.

Her mission was selfish—downright dangerous in more ways than one—and she needed to return home. Needed to look at her mother and father and tell them that she was fine. That she'd never leave their sight again if that was what they wanted. That she'd messed up and understand if they could never trust her again.

She needed to leave. _Now._

And as she started to wiggle toward the opposite door—with Threepio and Artoo whirring or shuffling behind her—Vader's rage rang loud and clear through the other room.

_Smash!_

The sound of a computer or two being pummeled and destroyed beyond repair. Then, "_Find her."_

There was a flurry of feet. Soldiers and officers suddenly scurried out of the room, frantic to get away from the Sith Lord's fury. And Leia paused and pressed herself tight against the wall, hoping and praying that nobody would see her as they fled. When nobody did, she scooted onto the floor and sat eerily still, knowing that she couldn't escape when there were so many people traipsing the halls.

She held her breath and stared at the opposite door and wished for all of the troopers and officers to disappear. Wished for them to dash two, three—no, _four_—floors away so she could start her escape attempt.

She waited for their footsteps to die down, waited for their anxious prattle to cease. Waited for that little voice in her heart to tell her that it was the right time to scamper back to the hangar before anybody could find her.

The breath she was holding burned her lungs and throat. She started counting to occupy her time. Fifty seconds. Sixty. Sixty-five.

And then, "I know you're listening, youngling."

Leia _panicked. _She forgot to exhale and her face turned blue, and when she struggled to see clearly, the door she had been peering through opened the whole way and revealed a durasteel-clad Darth Vader, helmeted gaze affixed to her own. Unblinking. Unmerciful.

He reached out, grasping for nothing and everything all at the same time. And she swiped at him, unsure of what he wanted other than _her in chains like a nefarious Rebel, _and then—

_Vrrp vrrrrrp!_

Artoo whizzed beyond Leia's petrified form, dome top targeted at Vader's legs. It aimed and struck true. And Vader grunted and lurched awkwardly forward.

There was a flurry of violent beeps and mechanical respires and Leia stared—_horrified_—as her best friend was lifted helplessly into the air before it was hurled to the other side of Vader's control room, where it smashed against an already-destroyed row of monitors with a sickening _crunch._

"_Artoo!"_

Leia ducked under Vader's legs and pushed aside his cloak. She sprinted toward her oldest companion, hoping and praying that it wasn't destroyed. She skidded and knelt—inspecting the damage before her body stopped surging forward—then felt a hand grip her shoulder. Rip her back. _Hard._

She pried and struggled, and after a few unsuccessful escape attempts, the hand recoiled and something _invisible _clamped around her entire midsection, forcing her to flail harder and _harder,_ but to no avail. And when she found herself staring into Vader's red-tinted eye coverings, she couldn't help but fidget.

"Hello there." Her voice was strangled but strangely still intelligible, and she gulped, unsure how to proceed.


End file.
